Grace should be my middle name.

Location: United States

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Twelve Things from Christmas

One Viewing of Elf
Two giant wedgies given
Three copies of Mel Gibson's The Passion floating around amongst family Christmas presents (two of them now in my possession)
Four point two miles until the next turn to my uncle's home, as calculated by Mapquest. That "point two" was important for my father to know.
Five sisters laughing and tearing newspaper up in order to freak out mom and dad that we started opening presents without them.
Six days past of vacation time
Seven trips to the mall
Eight-ty degrees on Christmas
Nine am wake up call
Ten + cousins working on gingerbread houses
Eleven pipers piping
Twelve (probably more) references to little sister smelling like "hot garbage"

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Brilliant Idea

2 Ritz crackers, with peanut butter in the middle, dipped in chocolate. That is all.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

No, Virginia...

Can I get a "what what" on the fact that this year does not seem like Christmas the way I remember it?

I mean that in the least bah humbug-ish way possible too, because things are good. Moving along.

Of course, it could be the warm weather keeping me from feeling like Christmas. It could be the fact that I actually live in the same area where home is, as opposed to a college town or out of state place somewhere. I suppose having to work up until December 22nd also contributes to the un-Christmas feeling. But I'm fairly certain that my little sister's knowledge about the truth about Santa is the main difference.

Yep, this summer, her 4 older sisters let her in on the big secret. This will not only be a landmark even for her: The First Christmas You Don't Believe. But it will also be a landmark for me and everyone else: The First Christmas No One Believes. It's like, getting rid of the magic or something.

I know you all are emphatically concerned about how I'm dealing with this, because it is an enormous deal. I'm sure we'll all survive. And I'm sure I need to go to bed and write something more coherent and interesting on another day.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Note to Self:

When someone asks you what CD is in your CD player right now, have a good standard already picked out for an answer. Being honest and answering, "Lesbian Rock Mix," just not going to cut it anymore.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004


Him: You were busting out of Mass really fast, I didn't have time to say hi!

Grace: Yes, I have to, to get to work on time. But I do remember checking to see what kind of car you got in. I can't remember what it was exactly, but I remember it was greenish and foreign.

Him: (laughing) Girls!

Grace: Well, I was just making sure you didn't drive a Chrysler.

Him: Oh, you wouldn't have been interested if I had?!

Grace: Well, you know...

Him: Well, I definitely looked to see what kind of car you got in.

Grace: Oh really! So what kind of car do I have?

Him: A white, 4-door Volvo sedan. Probably about a '94.

Grace: Damn, you're good.

Monday, December 13, 2004

One Thing That Working With Sixth Graders Has Taught Me:

A unibrow is always funny. Always. It's like a universal truth or something. Why is that?

Thursday, December 09, 2004

Where the Heart Is

This weekend, I returned from a most splendid trip north. It was a lot for me because I was entering into a climate where I had to not only wear socks, but also sweaters and jackets and scarves and hats. And those socks I was wearing, they weren't just socks. They weren't even just wool socks. They were battery operated electric socks. And yes, they worked well.

I could write about a million things from this weekend, but the only thing, except for a bulleted list of highlights that I seem capable of discussing right now is the coming home part.

Seven months ago I was coming home after more unpleasantness than I’d ever seen. I loaded up my mother’s minivan with artwork, furniture and belongings all by myself, put in a Beach Boys CD and never looked back. The job was so boring, I left it. The mattress didn’t fit, so I left it. The fish was too hard to transport, so I left it. I escaped anything or anyway that he could haunt me. I couldn’t see out the rearview mirror. But I felt a slight sense of girl-power as I went numbly through those motions.

And when I got home, I began a few months of recuperation and detox. I was relieved and thankful and happy. But I was not only numb, but shell-shocked and traumatized.

It had all happened so fast. New place. New job. New life. Almost all in one fell swoop. I was lucky and blessed by a miracle to have been saved. There were many tearful phone calls. There was a lot of painful memories. There were long baths, lots of prayer and only one bottle of wine by myself.

Coming home that day and all the days I came home for the next few months from various excursions, vacations, and hurricane evacuations, it was like being woken up from a day dream in class when your teacher calls on you out of the blue and it takes you a few seconds to figure out what he’s talking about and then you totally catch on, answer correctly and things continue as if you had never even day-dreamed in the first place. But there was that split second of, "What the hell is going on?" Even though you're pretty good at playing that off.

This time was different. This time, I felt like I knew where I was and I knew what to do and I didn’t miss a beat when I came back. Life continued and I was a part of it. I came home and it felt like home. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that.

The last place I called home, for almost two years, never felt right. For the first half, I was trying to find my place in a maze that didn’t seem to want me, and that I, quite honestly, didn’t want very much either. For the second half, I was doing the “coming home” thing a lot. So much so that that home felt more like a hideout from the out-of-town realities that demanded so much of myself.

So this weekend when my plane landed and I said goodbye to the nice grandfatherly man I sat next to, I knew where I was going and what I was going home to. And I liked it. And it felt good.

And somewhere between that home-coming, a fall up the stairs, a drenched cell phone, torn pants and a skinned knee, this week, I realized I was back. That I felt like the Grace Aplenty I was before things got lost and sad and confusing. I am myself, with both the fabulousness and the flaws. I’m not saying I’m great. I’m not saying I’m incapable of being sad. I’m not saying I’m healed. I’m not saying I’m not affected by the last year.

I’m saying that from the beginning of all this, I’ve known in my head that I was where I should be. And now, I think, for the first time, I'm positive that my heart knows that too.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Why Didn't Anyone Tell me?!

A Taco Cabana exists in MY very own home state! Albeit, it's on the other side of the state, but dude, IN MY STATE! A road trip may be in the near future.

Go here if you don't believe me:

Yes, I know this is a lame blog after such an absense. I'm working on it, guys. Chill.

Thursday, December 02, 2004


If one more person asks me if yellow-purple is a tertiary color, I think I might break out in hives. So don't. Just don't.

Fun weekend. Football game. Thirty degree weather. Philly cheesesteaks. Friend. Sister. Here I come.

Maybe on Monday you can ask me if yellow-purple is a tertiary color. Maybe I'll even answer you for the zillionth time when you ask me what red and yellow make. Maybe. Just maybe. But don't hold your breath.